Delegate

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Delegate

A Sonnet

A great hush has descended,
In me all warrings silenced.
The ideal’s flags are down,
So the mind’s thought-crown.

My vital is like a sieve,
Its million eyes to grieve.
My heart’s chamber desolate,
The silence is complete.

The self sits all alone,
Ardour stripped to the bone.
I strive in vain like a shadow,
To catch my body of tomorrow.

By this abyss lone and abject,
I know myself God’s delegate.